We’re Almost There!

I talked with my publishing agent
this afternoon. All lights are green.
It's a "GO"!  I've signed off on 
everything and JOAB will be 
released n a few short weeks.

Third in The Faithful Sons Trilogy,
this novel of the Old South
will take you back to a time
when emotions changed almost as
quickly as a mockingbird flits from
tree to tree. I hope I have captured some
of those emotions and that you will
open the pages with great expectations.
Whether you're from the North or South,
your heart will be warmed by memories
passed down from generation to generation.
Memories of a time when our country was at war
with itself and of the years that followed as the South
picked up the broken pieces and started all over again.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````
Rachel and Joab sat on the front porch swing that day, reminiscing about the war years, thinking about how the South had taken a beating, but more importantly, how they had lost the dearest on earth, thankful that grace was extended and that they had made it through five years past the war, even to 1870 when Mississippi was readmitted to the Union. That day on the porch swing sparked the beginning of a journey that would lead Joab in ways past understanding. In just a few weeks, you will be able to take that journey with him.

I hope you love it!

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````


The Lyceum, Oxford, Mississippi
Joab was not sure his mother would tolerate anger directed toward a living human being, especially now that the war had been over for five years. Rachel was scarcely flexible when it came to character and conduct. Joab was taken by the way his mother responded to him. She had always known what to say, but this time, and for the first time ever as far as he knew, there was resentment and anger when she spoke, raising her soft southern voice to a pitch he had not heard before. Furthermore, she spoke into the wind as if Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman were standing on the porch in full uniform with his hand tucked inside his jacket like Napoleon Bonaparte, his medallions glowing in the last vestiges of the setting sun, his hideous cigar chewed up and arrogantly stamped out upon the steps of her front porch


from JOAB
copyright Feb. 2013 
Jane Bennett Gaddy
Trinity, FLA


 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

WRITING HISTORICAL FICTION

Soon I will See!